


An act of Mercy

by chamyl



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale knows how to use a computer JUST ENOUGH, Blow Jobs, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Fasten your seatbelts, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, I hope you cleared your schedule, Ice Play, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), Romance, Smut, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), Top Crowley (Good Omens), honestly there are so many MOODS here, probably should have been two fics, there’s going to be whiplash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 12:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl
Summary: Crowley realizes how much guilt and shame his angel still feels, and what a different relationship the two of them have with Heaven and God in general. But, first of all, it starts with a demon scouting into Aziraphale’s browser history, finding a few surprises…





	An act of Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> My hand slipped again.

Aziraphale has been away for a week now.

The Ancient Literature Convention this year is being held in Singapore. Aziraphale wiggled excitedly when he got his invitation in the mail. He was a bit worried that, now that they’ve moved to the cottage, it would get lost. His address has been the same for two hundred years, after all.

He started making plans immediately. He called the travel agency and asked to book him a double room.

Crowley overheard him, and raised his upper lip in a slightly disgusted expression. “Do I _have to_ come?”

For the life of his, he couldn’t think of a more boring thing than a book convention. Aren’t books for introverts, anyway? Stay home and read! No need to meet up and ruin the magic, in his humble opinion.

Aziraphale had smiled at him, shaking his head. “I simply assumed you would be offended if I didn’t invite you to tag along.”

“No offence taken, angel.” He had reassured him. “I’ll be perfectly fine here on my own for a while.” Besides, he had just started a new crime show, and he was very into it. He could deal with being alone. And he knew his angel would be enjoying himself very much at the nerds convention.

* * *

So he’s been alone for a week, and everything is going just fine. He takes care of the plants, both outside the cottage and inside the greenhouse he’s built in the back. He has so many; it can take him more than an hour in the morning and more than an hour in the evening. It’s fine, though – Aziraphale and him are officially ‘retired’, and have a lot of time on their hands. It is likely that, at some point, something else will happen, and they’ll have to protect humanity once again. Not that they were much use the first time around, Crowley muses.

Either way, at the moment he loves having the luxury to spend three hours a day taking care of his garden. When he’s tired, he watches TV. It keeps him updated on what’s cool in the world today, which is very important to him.

He settles on the couch with his slick black laptop, opening his favourite streaming site. Few know, but Crowley invented illegal streaming websites. Aren’t they lovely? So many pop-ups, so many possible viruses. The best of them have a series of links for each episode. A user might have to go through twenty broken links before finding a functioning one. And the functioning one, more often than not, it’s in an exasperating low quality.

What a stroke of genius. Of course, he did not foresee wanting to use them himself, yet here he is. The series he’s watching has been taken off the legit sites, so he has to pirate it. It takes him about twenty clicks to close all the banners and pop-ups. They offer him large breasted women and penis inflating drugs. He’s annoyed he’s not being profiled correctly. Can’t they violate his privacy a bit better these days?

Either way, none of the links work. He refreshes the page again and again, irritated, until the site appears to be down. What the Heaven? It was working just fine a few seconds ago. He refreshes again. Nothing. Is he being blacklisted for trying to reach the site too often in a short amount of time?

With a groan, he stands up and goes to Aziraphale’s ancient beast of a computer. It takes five minutes just to turn it on and open a browser. Crowley stares at the ceiling as the machine whirrs and huffs. Why, why did he have to fall in love with someone so technologically impaired?

He types in the address for the website, and it seems to work. As soon as he selects the right show, though, fifty million pop-ups open up. He accidentally closes the whole thing. He almost breaks apart the stupid computer. He would, if it wasn’t Aziraphale’s.

“You’re on really thin ice.” He whispers to it, but the computer is not scared of him. Nothing of Aziraphale is scared of him.

He starts up the browser again, and opens the browser’s History tab. Maybe if he can get to the show’s page directly, avoiding the streaming site’s homepage, he can make this work.

Just as he’s about to click on the latest item in the History tab, though, his gaze falls to another page. Is that… bloody hell, is that a porn site?

He tells himself Aziraphale must have clicked on it by mistake. Surely, he would know if his angel watched porn.

 _Would he_ , though? Crowley likes to sleep and does so often. Aziraphale likes to cuddle in bed, but often, when Crowley wakes up, he’s alone. Technically, Aziraphale would have all the time in the world to watch whatever he wanted.

He debates, briefly, whether he should look into it. Oh, what the Heaven, it was Aziraphale himself who gave him permission to use his computer anytime he needed it. ‘ _I don’t like it much at all_ ’, he had said. ‘ _No computer will ever replace a good book_ ’, he had added, with that smug tone about him that Crowley loves to hate.

Back then, he’d laughed it off. ‘ _Use your computer? Why would I ever?_ ’, and ‘ _I only touch electronics that’s been made in the last two centuries, angel_ ’.

Now, he’s staring at the screen as if it’s the single most important piece of technology to ever exist.

Ah, _screw it_. A quick peek can’t hurt.

Whatever he was expecting, this isn’t it. This is… quite rough. Granted, ninety percent of online porn tends to be weird and needlessly aggressive. So this is pretty tame, comparing to the rest of what exists on the internet. Still, it is definitely something he wouldn’t have expected his angel to watch. Much less enjoy.

The sex itself is pretty run-of-the-mill – it’s the dialogue that makes it. The guy on the bottom is pleading, writhing, thanking the other with each slam of his hips. The dude on top has a cocky stream of dirty talk going on. When he calls the other his ‘little bitch’, Crowley stops the video, flabbergasted. He skips forward. At least, it ends well. The two men hug and cuddle as a very gratuitous pan of the camera travels over every muscle on their naked bodies.

‘ _So that was a… thing_ ’, he thinks to himself. He still maintains Aziraphale might have clicked on it by accident. So he’s on a mission to prove his angel’s innocence when he keeps scrolling through his History, really. He’s not morbidly curious, not at all. Not one bit.

Among perfectly normal, much less interesting websites, he spots other porn. On all these videos, Aziraphale has clicked on only once. There’s only two recurring interests. One is the first he’s seen, it keeps popping up again and again. How many times has Aziraphale watched it? Crowley doesn’t keep count. The other is a bit tamer. It’s still two guys, but this time one of them is forcing the other to ask out loud for anything he wants. He won’t comply until his partner asks very clearly for what he desires.

Crowley smirks. Now, that’s much more his speed. The idea is fascinating. Wouldn’t it be fun to have Aziraphale – Aziraphale, who’s still so easily embarrassed at times – enunciate he wants to be fucked? Oh, that would be fun indeed.

As he scrolls, he notices something else he wasn’t expecting. It seems to be some sort of forum. Aziraphale’s computer logs him in automatically, and he finds out it’s an online forum for gay men.

Now, Aziraphale has a long record of enjoying spending time with gay men. He always says they’re the most delightful, friendly, cheerful community of people he’s ever met. Crowley, on the other end, strongly disagrees. Sometimes, he wants to shake his angel by the shoulders and tell him ' _Of course they’re friendly, you dolt. You’re gorgeous, your smile could light up a continent, and you one hundred percent read as a gay man to them!_ ’

Granted, Aziraphale is not human, male, or gay. But that’s a hell of a conversation to spring on a regular mortal, so they avoid it altogether. Let people assume what they assume.

Crowley reads a post by the account he’s logged in as. Username: Elahpariza.

‘ _That’s not a username, angel. That’s just your name spelled backwards, for Heaven’s sake_ ’. Aziraphale is not human, male, or old, but sometimes he acts like such an old man.

The posts reads as follows:

> _“Dear everyone,_
> 
> _Forgive me for burdening you with this inquiry while shrouded in anonymity, but I am really quite ashamed. I have seen very many ‘posts’ on this forum, and all your replies always seemed so pleasant and lovely, I thought you might be willing to help me out._
> 
> _I have a partner that I love very much. We’ve been in love for a very, very, very long time, but only recently became more intimate._
> 
> _Forgive me for my forwardness, but it’s necessary to explain my predicament. He’s a very generous lover, attentive and open-minded._
> 
> _However, I sometimes find myself wishing he could be very much rougher. Not all the time, just every so often. I am ashamed to even write this, but I have been fantasizing about him treating me badly during an amorous encounter._
> 
> _What is wrong with me? As far as I can tell this is not a rare condition among men. But why is it so?_
> 
> _Do I tell him? I don’t think I should tell him. I am very much ashamed._
> 
> _Thank you all very much for your attention. I apologize again for being too explicit, the nature of my request forced my hand._
> 
> _Kind regards.”_

Crowley is distracted from the content of the post itself by the long sequence of emojis that follows.

_Waving hand. Crescent moon. Hugging face. Pensive face. Shushing face. Ghost. Worried face. Eyes. Page. Three red hearts. Praying hands. Dizzy face._

And so on, there’s at least a hundred of them.

‘ _Jesus Christ, emojis are not hieroglyphics, Aziraphale._ ’

Crowley briefly wonders whether his angel keeps a stash of holy water in the house. He needs a strong drink to forget that stream of nonsensical symbols he just saw.

Either way, what matters here is the gist of the post he’s just read. Aziraphale wants him to be rougher? Then why the Heaven wouldn’t he say something?! He could have come talk to him rather than writing to his _friends_ on the internet. He’s _ashamed_? Ashamed of what?!

He scrolls down to the replies.

The first one is just quoting his words, ‘ _He’s a very generous lover, attentive and open-minded_ ’ and below they put several eyes emojis and several ok-hand emojis.

The second one reads:

> _“Hi Elah! I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. Do you come from a very conservative family? I do. I’ve cut ties with everyone and created my own family, but sometimes I still feel a strong sense of guilt. I have no reason to! I do anyway. And it’s such a relief when my partner is rougher with me. I find it cathartic and liberating. Maybe because I feel very safe with him, play-acting my worst fears makes them seem much less scary. Anyway, as long as you both enjoy what you’re doing, there’s no need to feel ashamed, whatever it is you’re doing!”_

The third one is:

> _“i love it when my so takes control of everything. It makes me feel like I don’t have to take responsibility for anything and can just enjoy myself. you’re a lucky man, your partner sounds awesome!!! talk to him!!!”_

The fourth one says:

> _“WHAT ARE YOU AFRAID OF, THE SEX POLICE? BREAK!! THE!! BED!! LIFE IS SHORT, ENJOY WHATEVER YOU ENJOY MAN.”_

The fifth and last one is Aziraphale again. He graciously thanks everyone for their input, and says he’ll talk to his ‘partner’.

When was this? Ten days ago. So just before he left.

Crowley leans back on the chair. He's all but forgotten whatever he was doing before ending up in Aziraphale’s browser history. Well. He has a lot to think about now, doesn’t he?

* * *

When Aziraphale comes back, it’s a pleasantly warm evening. He enjoyed himself very much, but he’s happy to be home. And he can’t wait to see his dear, dear demon.

“Crowley?” He calls, hopeful, as soon as he steps in, leaving his suitcase by the front door. The only light in the house seems to come from the living room, so he walks towards it.

What he finds is a conspicuous bouquet of flowers waiting for him on the coffee table. Close by, a box of chocolates. Of course, because this is Crowley and he has _style_ , these aren’t just flowers and chocolates. The bouquet is made with birds of paradise and orange gerberas. The chocolates are filled with Cointreau.

The demon himself is on the couch, one arm over the back of it, knees open wide and body sinking into it as per usual. Aziraphale notices right off the bat what Crowley is wearing today. A particularly tight, shiny pair of black pants, as well as a dark grey shirt with a deep v-shaped neckline. No glasses. The angel averts his eyes for a moment before gazing at him once again.

“ _Ciao_ , angel.” Crowley has a subtle smile on his lips as he tilts his head to the empty spot on the couch next to him. “How was your trip?”

“Ah, uhm, my trip…” Aziraphale can recognize when he’s being cornered. And, right now, he feels a metaphorical wall behind his back. “It went exceedingly well, thank you! I, ah, met many old friends, and… well. Jolly good!”

In Hell, they don’t give out _Temptation for Dummies_ handbooks. But this doesn’t mean Crowley hasn’t studied his stuff. He knows what a seduction should look like. He also knows how to tell if it’s working. Aziraphale’s eyes are darting around the room, and he still hasn’t figured out what to do with his own hands.

Crowley wets his lips, showing his angel just the tiniest hint of tongue. Aziraphale finally comes and sits next to him; his knees shut together, hands in his lap. Is that a new cologne he smells from Crowley? Without turning to face him, he glances at the demon from the corner of his eyes.

“A special occasion?” He attempts a nervous smile.

Crowley leans closer to him, not touching him. But Aziraphale can definitely feel hot breath on the shell of his ear. “You’re back.”

The words make his heart flutter. And, if he had to be honest, they resonate elsewhere too.

“I was not gone that long…” the angel stares at the flowers, at the chocolate, at the wall, anywhere but at the beautiful demon sitting next to him. “I did miss you, though.”

Now, what Aziraphale expects is that Crowley will kiss him. Nuzzle his neck, maybe. Pull on his earlobe with his teeth, if he’s in the mood.

Crowley does nothing of the sort. He holds his ground, still close, but not close enough.

Aziraphale clears his throat, trying to clear his mind of inappropriate thoughts. “So… what did you do while I was away?”

Again, he feels the demon’s outbreath against his skin, sending shivers down his spine. “Wait for you.”

He turns slightly to Crowley, giving him ample occasion to kiss him. Crowley doesn’t.

Aziraphale is puzzled. Is he reading this wrong? No, that’s impossible. The flowers, the chocolate, the outfit, the cologne, the _inflection_ in his voice… the demon is most definitely seducing him. So, uh. The temptation has been fully successful. Should he say so out loud? Is Crowley waiting for something from him?

“Thank you, this is all quite lovely.”

Crowley hums in agreement, and the angel can feel the strong waves of love coming off of him. When Crowley focuses exclusively on him like this, it feels like a helicopter is landing at his feet. The sheer amount of noise, the aggressive force of the air pushing him in all directions.

Oh, what the hell. Aziraphale turns around and finally kisses him. And Crowley kisses him back. The angel lets his fingers run along the edge of his shirt’s neckline, then underneath it.

Yet, Crowley’s hands stay where they are, one of on the back of the couch, one on his thigh. When Aziraphale pulls back, he’s surprised the demon’s arms aren’t encircling him. And yet. Crowley _is_ interested. Aziraphale can tell. Even if he couldn’t feel love, the demon is eyeing him like he’s a delicious crepe. So…

“Would you… follow me to the bedroom?” The angel asks, tentatively, in a very low voice. He’s not sure what’s going on, but something is weird with Crowley today.

The demon nods at his request, and when the angel stands up, he comes along. He stops in the doorway, though, while Aziraphale sits on the bed.

“Dearest, is something the matter?”

“Not at all.” The demon’s yellow eyes are still obscenely undressing him, and Aziraphale feels his mouth dry up.

“Will you… sit next to me, then?”

Crowley does, but again, he doesn’t really do anything else. Aziraphale studies him carefully. Does he want to be convinced? Is that it? Does he want his angel to tempt him back? He can do that, if that’s what he’s after.

“I’ve missed you terribly, really,” he says again. He buries his face in the crook of his neck, nibbling lightly at the skin. “I’m not used to having a bed to myself anymore.”

He notices his demon swallowing, but that’s all. He ups the ante by running his tongue flat against Crowley’s pulse. “Did you miss me?” He asks, with a hopeful twitch of his eyebrows.

Crowley’s voice is unusually hoarse when he replies. “Course.” Aziraphale also notices the bulge in his tight pants. He decides to run his palm over it, feeling the demon tensing up against him. He smiles.

“Have you decided you’re going to make me work for this, Crowley? Is this what’s happening?”

The demon smirks with only one corner of his mouth. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Losing his patience, Aziraphale decides it's time to make their clothes disappear. He blushes red as soon as he does. Too much? Too soon? The demon is doing the equivalent of hitting him over the head repeatedly with the force of his feelings. He can’t even tell anymore whether he’s going too fast.

He puts a hand on the demon’s naked thigh, pressing himself closer to him. His voice becomes a whisper. “I love this new cologne of yours.”

He’s still expecting some sort of reaction, and still he gets nothing. He’d have thought he’d find himself flat on his back on the bed by now. He’d imagined his demon would topple them over. He lets out a defeated breath against his skin.

“Crowley…” he runs his hand up and down the demon’s inner thigh, impatiently. “Don’t make me wait.”

The words don’t deliver the result he was expecting. The demon simply asks, “Wait for what?”

Aziraphale does not remember the last time he’s felt this frustrated. He briefly debates with himself whether he’s become too spoiled. He’s so used to getting his way with him that he’s not sure what to do with himself right now.

What’s worse, he can feel himself slowly losing control of his thoughts. He might just do something he’d feel extremely ashamed about afterwards. He just— he’s missed him so much.

So he stands up. It is one thing to have a demon seduce you. It is another to pathetically drape yourself over him while he’s not giving you anything in return.

“Well, I… perhaps I ought to focus my attention somewhere else.” He steps towards the door, but Crowley doesn’t follow him. Aziraphale halts just before exiting the room, turns back to the demon still sitting on the bed. Crowley is still looking at him like he wants to eat him up. He’s sporting quite the erection, too. The angel’s shoulders slump and he sounds utterly ruined. “For God’s sake Crowley, please stop me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. The demon stands up, grabs him by the shoulders and pins him to the wall next to the door. They stare at each other for a few long seconds, both of them short of breath now.

“Cold you get closer?” Aziraphale asks in a whisper, and Crowley complies. Their bodies are just shy of touching.

“Closer. _Please_.” Crowley presses the entire length of his body to the angel’s, making him bite down on his lower lip, eyes fluttering closed. Suddenly, he has an epiphany. Maybe he understands the rules now. Crowley doesn’t want to be seduced. He wants to be _asked_. This is going to be hard, but – Aziraphale can’t hide the excitement cursing through his body at the thought.

He has some trouble getting the words out, but he has to test his new theory. “Would you touch me?”

The demon presses both hands on the wall on either side of his head, staring into his eyes, his voice a low growl. “Where?”

Aziraphale tries to hide his face into his own shoulder, glances down at his cock trapped between their bodies. “My…”

Crowley lifts an eyebrow, tilting his head a bit. Doesn’t move.

The angel thinks it over for a second, with whatever part of his brain that’s still working. He decides it’ll be easier to get all the words out together rather than spitting them one by one. He wraps his fingers around Crowley’s wrists, guiding one hand to his neck and the other between his legs, face flushing again.

He remembers the advice he’s been given: talk to your partner. Well, no better occasion than this one, is there?

“Keep me here, please,” he presses Crowley’s hand _hard_ into the soft skin of his neck, “while you…” the other hand he presses against his cock, repressing a moan. He tries to encourage himself. _Say the words. Just say the words_. No, he can’t do it. He pleads, “Please, please, touch me.”

Crowley has been burning up. He shouldn’t accept this cop-out. But he knows how hard it must have been for Aziraphale to get this far. His beautiful, spoiled, brave angel, Crowley can never say no to him. So he holds him very firmly against the wall. Aziraphale wanted it rough. Crowley maintains the pressure on his neck that the angel requested himself. He’s careful not to choke him off, but he’s definitely restricting his airway a little bit. The angel encourages this by sinking his nails into the demon’s shoulders. He's pulling him impossibly closer. Crowley’s free hand wraps around his lover’s cock, beginning to stroke up and down. He starts grinding against him, moving his hand in time with the rest of his body.

Their sense of time begins to blur.

* * *

Despite his resolution to make Aziraphale ask for every single thing, Crowley is beginning to wonder whether he might not just fuck him right there and then, against that wall.

“Angel,” he pants against Aziraphale’s ear, “is there _anything else_ you want me to do for you?”

Aziraphale’s head is spinning, and hearing Crowley’s voice that far gone is not helping. Yes, there’s something else. There are many things. But whatever he wants, he knows the demon is going to make him ask.

“Would you— _ah_ …” he’s distracted by Crowley’s mouth sucking on his neck, trailing down along his shoulder. The demon runs a thumb over the tip of his cock, making him arch against him. He gets all the words out in a single breath. “Would you please use your mouth?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” Crowley lets go of his cock to guide him back to the bed, making him sit on the edge. He drops to his knees and buries his face into the angel’s lap.

“Crowley—!” Aziraphale gasps, hands flying to the demon’s hair.

Crowley makes a point of detaching himself from him with the lewdest sound he can manage. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Was this not what you meant?”

“I, well—” the demon tongues the tip of his cock, making him grip the edge of the bed. “Yes! Yes this is what I meant.”

Crowley runs his parted lips along the length of his erection, humming against its base. “ _Hmmm_. Thought so.” Then he picks up from where he left off.

He grabs the angel’s hands over his head, encouraging him to move him as he likes.

He wishes he could make Aziraphale feel like he feels. He has no shame, and not a trace of guilt. Why should it be otherwise? He’s not doing anything wrong. No one ever expects it from him, but he has a strong sense of justice. And he finds it absolutely fair that he’d do as he likes with his own body. So what if he wanted to suck off his angel every day for the rest of his existence? What would be wrong with that?

More importantly, who’s going to stop him? Who has the moral high ground to judge him?

Finally, one good fucking thing about Falling. If he’s been denied his creator’s approval, if he’s unforgivable… then there’s nothing to chase after. He’s _free_.

It wouldn’t be correct to say Crowley does not believe in anything. But he has his own personal mythology. He’s not going to respect someone just because they’re supposed to be an authority figure. Just like he wasn’t going to hate Aziraphale, when they first met, just because he’s an angel. He’ll see for himself who’s good, and who isn’t.

Aziraphale… is still tied up in his old ways, sometimes. If Crowley could free him, he would. But he can’t. It’s something his angel has to do for himself. In the meantime, though, he’ll do absolutely everything in his power to help him out.

So if he has to be rougher, he’ll be rougher. Whatever his angel wants or needs. As it has always been.

“Ah, Crowley…” the warning from Aziraphale, his fingers wrapped tightly in his ginger hair, are his signal to stop. The angel makes a small whimper, a protest barely held back at the gate of his lips.

When he looks down, the demon is staring up at him again, unblinking, with burning intensity. Aziraphale meets his gaze and knows: if he doesn’t say it now, he’ll never have that courage again.

“Love,” he cups his cheek with a warm, soft hand, “take me.”

Crowley drags him down to him, pulling him down into a kiss. In the kiss, he tries to pour all he’s thinking. That’s so good, his angel is so good. The demon knows how much it must have cost him to say what he wants out loud.

He guides him down to his hands and knees, runs a hand along the curve of his ass. Aziraphale nods, letting him know he’s already made his body ready for him. Crowley presses his chest to the angel’s back, pushing inside him.

When he’s all the way in, he presses a kiss to the back of the angel’s neck. “Anything else you want?”

Aziraphale nods, but it takes him a few seconds to reply. His voice is hoarse and low. “I wouldn’t mind if you were…” He trails off. This time, not because he’s ashamed, but because he can’t find the words for it.

Fortunately, a certain demon has been all up in his private fantasies lately. He knows exactly what he wants. “You want me to be mean to you.”

Aziraphale nods.

“How much?”

The angel is so thankful he can only see the floor in front of him. “As you’d like, so long as it doesn’t upset you.”

This is not the best moment to get romantic, or maybe it’s the best moment of all, and Crowley is touched. His angel _knows_ him. He knows he’s the softest between the two of them. Knows he’ll play along if it’s a game, but would loathe actually hurting him or offending him.

The demon smiles, then begins pulling out. “As you wish.” He presses back in, making Aziraphale gasp.

* * *

“You’ve been such a _terrible_ angel.” If Crowley can’t help making it sound like a compliment, it’s not his fault. All the angels he’s known, beside his own, are assholes. Either way, it seems to have the desired effect on Aziraphale, who whimpers and nods beneath him.

He reaches around to grab his cock, “Your mind is full of impure thoughts, isn’t it?” he squeezes. Aziraphale lets out a breathy _yes_ , and it’s not clear whether he’s answering the question or encouraging him to keep going.

Crowley is having trouble forming sentences, but he’ll force himself to pull through. Aziraphale is positively burning up under him. The sounds he makes, the way he moves his hips back to meet him – everything lets him know he’s enjoying this too much for them to stop. He’s so close.

“Sins of the flesh, is that what they’re called?” He tightens his grip on the angel’s cock, emphasizing his point. “Not at all what you were supposed to do with this body.”

Aziraphale shakes his head, dropping to his elbows with a yelp. The new angle has Crowley almost come right there and then. He can’t. Not yet.

“Look at you now.” He leans closer, hoping his famous tongue won’t fail him now. “On your knees for a demon.” Aziraphale’s cock throbs in his hand, rock hard and slick. Just a little more.

“Tell me, Aziraphale,” he sinks his teeth into the side of his neck, drops his voice to a low hiss. “Do you like how my cock feels inside you?”

That’s it, that’s what it takes. The angel gives a strangled sob and explodes in his hand. Crowley props his free elbow against the floor, his arm firmly keeping Aziraphale in place, because he shakes so hard he’s afraid he’ll slip. The angel’s nails rattle against the floor, finding nothing to grip.

“It’s alright.” Crowley holds him as close as physically possible. “I’ve got you.”

Slowly, Aziraphale catches his breath. When he turns around, the demon sees his eyes are wet. Before he can asks, the angel reassures him. “I’m fine.” He swallows, then smiles. “More than fine, in fact. I— _thank you_.”

They don’t usually thank one another. Old habit, from a time when being thanked could get them into trouble.

* * *

Aziraphale slides away from under him, turns to lie on his back, invites Crowley over him again. This time, he interlaces their fingers before wrapping his legs around the demon’s waist. He nudges him with the back of his feet, and Crowley obliges once again, easily sliding into him.

“I do like how you feel inside me.” He whispers in ear. The shift in their ‘conversation’ is sharp as the difference between day and night. Because that was for Aziraphale, but this is for Crowley.

And Crowley reacts to the words as Aziraphale knew he would, melting and tensing against him, beginning again to pant over him as he moves. His demon has never been shy about what he likes. So, the angel knows exactly what to do.

He positions his lips as close to the demon’s ear as possible, telling a secret no one else could hear. “I like it most when you finish inside me. You burn like the brightest of stars.” He frees one hand to sink his fingers in the short hair behind Crowley’s head. “You’re astonishing. You’re wonderful. You’re so good to me. You’re—”

He doesn’t get to finish that, because his demon grips his hand tight as he comes inside him, a loud moan drowning out any other noise.

* * *

At some point after, they’ve moved to the bed. Aziraphale is resting his cheek on Crowley’s chest, feeling the calm beating of his heart. The demon glances down at his angel every so often. Aziraphale is positively glowing, happy as a clam. Crowley is still not completely sure he understands why, or how, but well – that’s just details. If his angel is happy, he’s done his job.

He runs a hand up and down the angel’s back, soothingly. But maybe he’s just comforting himself. Maybe he has not realized how afraid he was to cross the line and actually hurt Aziraphale, until now. He’s so relieved it went well. More than well, actually. When his angel peeks up at him, his eyes are full of love.

“So,” Crowley blows a strand of hair away from his forehead before continuing, “we just found out you have a kink.”

Aziraphale should protest. He knows. He has the instinct to. But… well. After what they’ve just done, _the way_ they’ve done it, it feels preposterous. “I refute that statement.” He replies calmly, not even bothering to put any effort into it.

“That so?” Crowley smiles down at him. “Then I guess today I do not feel like cleaning up.”

Now _that_ gets more of a reaction out of Aziraphale. He looks up at him, brow furrowed, lips pouting. “But there’s such a mess…”

The demon rolls his eyes, and with a snap of his fingers he miracles them (and the floor) clean.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale smiles, satisfied, making himself comfortable again against his chest. The next time he speaks, he’s much more serious. “I mean it, Crowley.”

The demon hums, letting the angel feel the soft vibrations against his ear. “I did like it, you know. Just— I am never, ever going to call you a little bitch, so don’t ask me that.”

“A little…” Aziraphale repeats slowly, not understanding. There are a few, long seconds of silence in which neither of them speaks or moves. Then Aziraphale springs up like a jack in the box, clutching the sheets to his chest.

“ _What did you just say?_ ” His voice has risen a full octave. His face is a nice shade of purple. “How would— why would— how _could_ _you_ possibly know about— _that_?!”

Crowley looks at him, one eyebrow raised in confusion. “Your browsing history?”

“What in the world is a _browsing history_ now?!”

* * *

Crowley adores his greenhouse. It’s hot and humid, but he doesn’t mind. He’s surrounded by his plants, and he can see the sky through the transparent ceiling. At night, he could lie there for hours, looking at the stars he helped create.

He’s laid a blanket in the middle of it, there’s going to be fireworks tonight, and this is the best place to watch them from. He does love a good show of fireworks. They’re flash, they’re fun, they’re dangerous.

Right now, though, there’s only the oppressive darkness and the comforting silence of the night sky above him. For millennia, humanity has speculated on the correlation between the celestial bodies and the nature of God. Is a meteor shower a good or a bad sign? What if Venus is brighter today? What does it all mean?

Crowley could tell them: God doesn’t give a shit about any of them. She’s playing her own game of which nobody knows the rules. Might as well do whatever you want. Guilt and shame are useless chains you put on yourself. Like Aziraphale still does.

He catches himself wondering, when did he become so angry with God? Because that’s what he is, angry.

He wasn’t, at first. When he Fell, a big part of him believed it to be fair. He knew the rules, and had gone against them. He’d thought himself untouchable – he was not. He’d thought… he’d really thought his status and power would keep him in God’s good graces forever.

Contrary to popular belief, God is not a monolithic entity. She changes. Crowley has the impression that as time goes by She’s more and more guarded, distant. Disinterested in what’s going on in the world She created.

At first, She talked directly to Her angels. Not to him, of course, but he knew She talked to Aziraphale. He remembers being surprised upon learning She had not asked about the flaming sword again. Good for Aziraphale, though, he wouldn’t have survived in Hell – at least not way back then.

He remembers watching the Great Flood. Oh, God does love Her goddamn rain. How he hates it. Once again, he thought it ridiculous to wipe out the entire area population and start anew. What would that fix? If humans are fundamentally flawed, that’s what they are. Killing a bunch of them is not going to improve anything.

He remembers the Towel of Babel, God’s anger at it. What for? She had drowned them all off, of course the poor sods would try and save themselves from the next flood.

He remembers the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Plagues of Egypt. He remembers the Crucifixion.

It’s a good thing he’s already Fallen, because he can be as arrogant as he wants. Because Crowley, well – he’s pretty sure all of it could have been handled differently.

At some point, anyway, God retired behind Metatron. And good luck getting a word in crosswise with that wanker.

It was the Crucifixion, he’s pretty sure of it. That’s when he started becoming angry. He’d been sent to talk to Jesus and tempt him – of course it had to be him, being the resident serpent of earth and all that. Instead, he found out there was not so much he could do. That young man knew very well what was coming for him. And it’s not like he did not have his doubts – he had plenty, but did not waver.

They spent forty days and forty nights in the desert together. On the last day, he had made Crowley a promise: he’d said it would become a better world after his death. His sacrifice would make everything work as it should have from the very beginning.

Crowley watched, next to Aziraphale, as the cross was raised on the hill of Golgotha. It was a pitiful show, and neither of them could intervene. Aziraphale because he wouldn’t have dared disobey. Crowley because he had been asked not to by the son of God himself. And also because he wouldn’t want Hell to find out, but that was secondary.

A few years later, the world was the same shitty place as it was before. People were still awful. Crowley shouldn’t have been pissed about it; it gave him less work to do. He just had to be in the right place at the right time. The humans would do horrible things all by themselves, and he could take credit for it. He did, in fact.

But he was still angry. God had killed Her own son for what? _Nothing at all._ He wasn’t a child anymore, but he was still young. He could’ve had a good life. He could have died in a way that wasn’t so bloody painful.

He had run into Aziraphale just as he was steeping in these very same thoughts. It was in Rome. He had just wrapped up an awful assignment. He was drinking something absolutely disgusting, but it’d do the job of getting him drunk very fast. It settled in his stomach with a worrisome burn.

And Aziraphale… Aziraphale had been so _nice_. So hopelessly, stupidly, illogically nice. He was still so full of love for this world, the creatures in it, its food, its music. Even for him, a random demon sent from Hell to get in the angel’s way as much as possible.

Aziraphale had been Aziraphale, in other words.

He still is, millennia later. His angel has stayed pretty much the same. There’s a single, big change going on – little by little, he’s been disentangling himself from the grasp of Heaven. The big step was rebelling, during the Apocalypse. There’s some leftover mess to clean up in his mind, but the demon is hopeful. They can get there. And whatever Crowley can do to help this process, he will. Until his lover is completely free of any guilt.

As he’s learned during the thousands of years spent among humans, the only thing that matters about life is life itself. Live a good one, don’t be an asshole. It’s not that hard. And he’ll see to it that his angel lives the best existence possible.

His heart is full as Aziraphale steps into the greenhouse, carrying a tray. He’s wearing a short-sleeved sand coloured linen shirt, as well as a knee-length pair of pants in the same shade. Of course, he also added a cute baby blue bow tie to his outfit. He finds the greenhouse way too hot. But he wouldn’t have missed watching the fireworks with his demon for nothing in the world.

“I made us iced tea!” He beams down at Crowley, wondering how he’s not melting off in his black jeans and tank top. He sets the tray down next to the blanket; then lies down with the demon. “Is it starting?”

“Not for another half an hour, no.”

“Oh good, good.” They can lie there and wait for a half an hour together, not a problem. In fact, one might even suspect the angel knew perfectly well it was too early, and came in anyway. With his sweet iced tea and his innocent looking bow tie.

He studies Crowley’s face with a single, long look. “What’s on your mind, dearest?”

“M’fine. Just thoughts.”

Aziraphale looks down towards their feet. “Regrets?”

“Hm?” The demon turns to lie on his side, a hand on his angel’s chest. “Not at all. Not one.”

Aziraphale smiles at him, and Crowley gives back a slight upturn of his lips while the angel takes his hand.

“Could we catch any falling stars tonight?” Aziraphale asks, wiggling closer.

“Supposedly.”

They stay like that for a few while, the angel silently scanning the sky with no luck at all, the demon looking at him. Aziraphale brings Crowley’s long fingers to his mouth, presses a tender kiss to them.

That’s when the demon comes to a decision. He doesn’t want to be this angry anymore. At least as long as he has this love, he has no use for this anger.

He must be looking at Aziraphale with scorching intensity, because the angel is staring at him. Slightly concerned, trying to translate from Crowley’s very own silent language. He knows better than to ask. He turns to him, laying a hand on the demon’s cheek.

“Crowley, you’re burning up.”

Crowley does not reply, eyes darting to the angel’s lips, then to his nose, to his eyes, back at his lips. Aziraphale feels a weird tugging in his chest. He scoots closer still, pressing his nose to the demon’s. He cradles his face in his hands, kisses him.

Crowley’s hands cling to his shirt, balled up into fists. He’s wrinkling it, but that’s okay. This is more important: this need of his, whatever it is, wherever it came from.

Their kiss becomes more urgent as it goes on, more frenzied. It’s only been a few hours since they’ve had sex. But it’s become a common occurrence for them to find themselves suddenly in the arms of each other. Sometimes more than once a day. It might be because they wasted centuries upon centuries. It might be because this is the first time they’re free. It might be because they’re completely on their own now, and it’s exhilarating but also terrifying. It might be because they only have each other.

For whatever reason, their lips, their hands – they establish they need each other right now. Crowley pulls gently on his bow tie, undoing it. He keeps a hand on the angel’s cheek as he works with the other, undoing the tiny buttons of his shirt one by one. He could miracle everything away, but he won’t. He wants to do this. He wants the work of unwrapping him, gently, of baring him little by little.

Aziraphale’s soft hands pull up his tank top; they break the kiss only to get rid of it. He runs his fingers over the warm skin of his side, of his back. Crowley has dipped his hands into the angel’s hair, ruffling it, tugging lightly at it, asking to please, please be the only thing he focuses on right now.

Aziraphale is fully complying. His fingers shake slightly as he unbuttons Crowley’s jeans. He’s not nervous, he’s not ashamed – of anything he’s about to do. But he can feel the momentous change in the air, whatever it is. Crowley lies on his back, without a word.

He slides the jeans off the demon’s long, long legs, then comes back up to shower his chest with kisses. He trails down, stopping at his navel to look up. Crowley is staring at him, eyes half closed, cheeks flushed. His hands are gripping the blanket; the pace of his breathing is already fast. His skin is still burning.

Aziraphale reaches up to dip his fingers into one of the glasses he brought along and grab an ice cube. He pops it into his mouth and sucks the sugar off of it, then takes it between two fingers and carefully places it in the centre of Crowley’s chest, over his heart.

The demon draws a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth. Aziraphale hooks his fingers in the waistband of Crowley’s boxer briefs, pulling them down. He kisses the demon’s erection, then takes him into his mouth. He reaches up to roll the ice cube up and down his lover’s chest as he sucks, tongues, gently squeezes his cock.

Crowley reaches for him without ever grabbing him, fingers brushing against his ears, his hair, his cheeks. Among breaths and moans, only one word. “Angel…”

His angel, unknowingly performing an act of mercy that is nothing short of a miracle.

Slowly, the ice cube begins to melt, leaving a wet trail on the demon’s chest, drops falling along his sides and to the blanket like tears. Just as slowly, Aziraphale’s lips and tongue work on him, finding all the spots and angles that make him moan out loud. The angel pushes a slick finger into him, curls it, presses against the spot that takes his breath away, making him arch his back against the ground.

A hand squeezes his shoulder, calling him up. Aziraphale grants its request, freeing his mouth and hands to slide up and kiss his demon deeply, hungrily. He can tell when he’s needed, and this is one of those times. The tide of Crowley’s love is strong and pulling him in, and he lets it carry him away.

He slides out of the rest of his clothes, positions himself between the demon’s legs. They keep their eyes locked as he pushes in with a breathy sigh. Between each thrust, he leans down to leave a kiss on Crowley’s lips, cheeks, nose, wherever he can reach. Not for the first time, he wishes the demon could feel his love without him having to explain. Without him having to say out loud, _‘I am in love with you, I’ve loved you for so long, I’ll love you until you let me, I love you too. I do. I do. I do.’_

When Crowley looks up at the night sky next, the fireworks have just started over them. Beautiful, evanescent flowers of fire exploding over their heads, hiding and shaming the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Crowley's plants have seen TOO MUCH.


End file.
